Feeling
by Gothic Guardian
Summary: Anamaria is hurting. Both inside, and out. She is at war with herself... Can Jack help her overcome her problem? Or will she push him so far away that he won't, or can't, come back? (COMPLETE)Chapter four has some revisions made to inhance accuracy. R
1. Into the Fire

This fic is dedicated to Lykosdracos. As promised, a gift fic. Be forewarned, this is an angst fic. The activities forthwith are neither condoned nor participated in by the author (me). If this offends you, I'm sorry....

And thank you for the release from my bindings. I'm eternally grateful because now I can write this. Just a tiny request, d'ye think I could borrow that blowtorch for a moment? --Stares menacingly in direction of Plot Bunnies and muses (and little sister)-- Roasted Bunnies anyone?

Anamaria's PoV, again. I don't know why, but she's been the easiest to write from lately.

Angst, to the extreme, just as a warning. SI (Self-Injury), J/A

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Feeling

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Perfect Cure

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I hold my arm against the flame

The bubbling flesh hissing my name

The burning pain soothes my soul

This is my choice, my control

And though they try, none can take

This perfect cure to my heartache

My world is left in chaos

I've no decision, I have no say

So I just watch my skin blacken and burn

And, with it, the pain just melts away

I know it'll become just another scar

Disfigured, discoloured, just like my heart

But I don't care. Let them see

The broken child that once was me

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- I watch in awe as my hand sizzles in the hot flame. This is a pain I can handle. This is a pain I can control. I may hide behind my wall of indifference —— I may pretend that my emotions aren't there, that they don't matter —— But they still are, and they still do. The loneliness burns more than the smoldering flesh.

- The scent of cooked meat wafts up from my arm. The dancing flames of the candle have eaten to the muscle on my wrist. I should move it, start on another spot before my arm becomes unusable. I hold it there a moment longer before removing it. I stare at the freshly made wound, as my other arm replaces the first. The skin is black, pealing in places. A white film of dead skin clings to the charred area.

- So beautiful. So.... entrancing. The chocolate skin is even darker from the burn. I just sit at my desk, gazing intently as the fire licks my other wrist. I should be careful. If it were to get infected, I may not be able to do my work. 'Ana....' The fire whispers, 'Anamaria....'

- "Anamaria?" This time my name is called from the door. If I ignore it, they'll go away. My attention never leaves the brightly blazing candle before me. A knock comes once more from the door, yet I make no movement to answer it. The scorched skin is too enchanting. The sight of the flesh, melting away, is too.... perfect.

- "At least with this I can feel." I breathe. The pain that flairs from the wounds does nothing to hinder my speech. I've spent too long hiding pain —— both physical and emotional —— that I can pretend they're not there. Usually. Sometimes the pain becomes so strong that tears sting my eyes. That's when I turn to my candle. Or, if it's after lights—out, I turn to my knife.

- Higher up on my arm, rarely exposed to the view of the Captain or crew, are crisscrossing lacerations. Patterns formed over time. Now, however, they're as plain as day. Raised scars, some almost decorative enough to be called inkings. Without the ink, of course.

- The flame jumps irregularly for a moment, before returning to its normal dance.

- "Ana?" I emulate the fire's prior actions. Damn, I thought I locked the door. I quickly slide my sleeves back down to cover my scars. The last thing I need is for _him_ to see my wounds. I so did not want him to see my release.

- "Aye, Captain?" I try not to sound as startled as I am. I try to force my anger out, to sound annoyed. Anger is often the best mask one can ask for. "What is it that ye need from me?" I wait a moment, hoping he doesn't approach any further. He remains silent, and —— as far as I can tell —— still. "Well? Is there anything I can do for you, or are you here just to waste my time?" I think I achieved the anger.

- The candle's movement changes. He's coming closer, I know it. 'Please, don't let him see.... Please don't let him see....' I chant the prayer to myself, hoping for him to stop short of my desk.

- The flame stops moving. He must have stopped as well. I breathe a sigh of relief. Then I jump as I feel his hand on my shoulder. Damn.... Bloody.... Not good.

- "Be there a reason for you hidin' your arms the second I came in the room?" His words were spoken right next to my ear. I shook my head, not trusting my voice to remain neutral. "Then you won't mind me takin' a look—see, would you?"

- Buggar! I can't show him. He mustn't know. This is my control. "Why?" I can sense that he's perplexed without even looking. "Why should I let you see?"

- He grabs my wrist, eliciting a hiss of pain from me. He lifts my sleeve, exposing both old and new injuries. I turn my head away from him, and hide behind the long, tangled ebony locks that fall into my face from the movement.

- I feel the warmth of tears fill my eyes. I'm being so bloody weak. Yet there's nothing I can do. I feel so.... exposed. I'm fully clothed besides my one arm, yet I feel completely naked before him.

- I hear his trinkets jingle softly as he shifts positions. His hand is still on my arm, gentler now, as he moves to kneel next to me. The candle's flame is distorted; rays of light encircle it, as my tears refract the fire. I know what he'll say. It's what others have said. Other people, claiming to care for me, then trying to take away the only thing in life that really helps. He'll ask me why I do it. But he won't understand. They never do. He'll try to make me stop. I can't stop. I don't want to stop.

- "I won't stop." I meant it to be too quiet for him to hear. Not that it matters, we're so close I'm sure he heard anyway. He made no indication to tell me if he knew what I said or not, though. He remains silent. Too silent, if you ask me.

- His (blurred) hand came into view as he placed it under my chin and turns my face to him. I fight, hoping he doesn't look. Hoping he doesn't see my weakness, my tears. He forces my head around, removing his hand from my arm to brush the hair from my face. My hair is matted to my face from prior tears, and I curse myself for being so pathetic. How dare I let my feelings, my useless, pitiful emotions, get in the way. Why does he have to see them? Curse him for making me question myself. Curse him for making me feel in the first place!

- He entered my life years ago, and just left again. Then he shows up years later, to steal my boat! And I had to be stupid enough to let him under my skin again. It's my fault for letting him in, but it's his fault for being.... so.... _him_!

- His hands cradle my face, one on either sides, and we just sit there a moment, not moving. His hand slowly moves to brush away the salty trails from my cheeks. I want so much to let him. I want so much to feel loved; to feel.... cared for. I want him to hold me. I want him to kiss me. I want him.... Then why am I panicking? Why does the mere thought of letting him care for me terrify me? Why can't I just let go; just feel for once? I've spent my whole life pushing my heart into the shadows; building a wall between me and my emotions; 'til now I can't remember _how_ to feel.

- A new line of saltwater falls, and this time, he moves forward and kisses them away. Why is it that I want so badly to fall into his embrace, yet at the same time, I feel like slapping him and throwing him out of my cabin and overboard? How can both be true? The only thing that I know for certain is the pain on my wrists. That pain I can deal with. That pain I can understand. That pain is _real_.

- Hi beard scratches my face as he kisses away my tears. My heart is pounding in my chest, the candle's flame is calling to me, and _he_ is the cause of it all. I try to pull back, but his hands hold my face firmly in place. He does, at least, pull back a bit himself. Our faces are still almost touching, though. Naught but a breath lay between us. In fact, I can almost taste his breath. Rum, sweet, bitter, and a bit salty from my tears.

- He breaks our tableau by closing the minute gap between us and capturing my lips with his own. The kiss starts out chaste, careful, but I soon feel his tongue on my lips, asking entrance.

- I place my hands on his chest, pressing gently against him in an attempt to pry him from me. My burn is aching from the movement and his clothes rubbing against the open sore, but I still push harder. When I finally (even if it only took a few seconds, it still felt like eternity) get him far enough away to think, I wipe his taste from my mouth. That is definitely _not_ what I imagined it to be.

- "Wha's wrong, luv?" His trademark smirk isn't there. All I see is concern.... For me. I just look down guiltily. I've tried so hard to rely on only myself, that it never crossed my mind that someone could _want_ me to need them. I take in a deep breath. This is going to be quite the challenge to explain.

- "Where to start...." I mumble to myself, trying to find a good place to begin my reasoning.

- "How abou's you start with how you got these" He runs his hand lightly over my scars. The caress of my sensitized flesh made a shiver run through me. "and why you did this." His hand stops just short of my open wound. His fingers lightly circle it, being very careful not to touch the injury itself.

- A shaky breath begins my answer. "I.... I was.... clumsy. I got most of those when I was first learning to use a blade...." He just looked at me like he knew I was lying. Of course I am, so I guess he's right.

- "How about the _real _reason you go' them?" He looks me directly in the eye. There is none of his usual daft insanity, only serious, honest, worry. "Why'd ye hurt yerself?"

- How am I supposed to explain to him why I do this? How could I ever describe to _him_ what it's like.... how it feels when the cold steel or scalding fire first touches your flesh? How relieving it is to feel the pain washed away in the fire's warm embrace.... or the cooling metal. "I just can't explain it....."

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To Be Continued.....

I know this one is good, my.... someone I know.... does this (SI) and she was actually talking to the story! (As in saying stuff like "Slap him! Damnit, Beat his arse!") So yeah she liked it. And that's coming from the point of view of someone whose 'Been There, Done That'.

I still welcome feedback, good or bad. If you didn't like it, why? If you did, what was your favourite part? See that little button at the bottom? The one that says "Go"? Just click on it and tell me what you thought. I love your reviews. So please, keep me satiated, and I'll keep posting. (As soon as I can).

Thank you!


	2. Burned By the Lies

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_**Feeling**_

_**Part II**_

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...."I just can't explain it...."

"What's so hard about givin' a reason for hurting yourself?" I can hear the frustration in his voice. His barely contained anger stings. I'm not sure why, but his impatience makes me feel so.... childish. I suddenly feel so foolish, so.... young. And so infuriated.

What right does he have to presume superiority over me? Besides the fact that he's the Captain and I'm First Mate, we've been on pretty equal terms. I'm usually more dominant, even. So what's changed? What could have possibly happened to make him suddenly think that he can control me? He doesn't. He can't control me.

"I really don't see the point...." I took a heavy sigh. "I don't have to tell you anything." I know, I'm sounding infantile, but I don't care. He could bloody well go to Hell, for all I'm concerned.

"'M th' Captain, luv." The grin on his face is clearly forced. "I could just order you to tell me. Or even better.... I could force you to stop completely." He scans my face, searching for what, I don't know. All I know is the giant knot twisting up my stomach.

The urge to reach around him, to just touch the swaying candle flame, is growing. I can hear it.... The subtle murmur. The soft seductive whispering. It's calling again. "Ana...." All of my energy is being spent just staying still, keeping my hands immobile.

I realize they're still on his chest. Pain flairs up my scorched arm in a fast, rhythmic pulse. Looking to where my hands lay upon my Captain's chest, I see them vibrate gently and quickly. Short fast movements caused by my struggle to keep from moving them. Each movement, though small, rubs his shirt's rough fabric against my sensitive wound.

The silence around us is almost too strong; almost enough to drown within, yet neither of us speak. I don't trust my voice (or myself at that).

In the silence, my feelings, pushed down for so long, decide to resurface. I'm quite overwhelmed by them. My heart is pounding, tears pricking my eyes once more. I feel.... giddy, excited, scared, lonely.... and.... I don't know. The emotions are all jumbled together, as if over twenty five years of emotions all surge up on me at this one moment. I guess nothing lasts forever. Not even the wall around my heart.

I can almost see, in my mind's eye, the shattered, crumbled shards of what is left of my only defence. My only protection, my only cover, has been stripped away. Why and how, I have no clue.

I feel trapped, terrified. I need to get away, he's too close. Yet, still, I want him closer. I can almost feel his hands on my skin.... His mouth, once more pressed against mine. I feel the knot in my stomach tighten even more, and fall a few centimetres. I can nearly taste him. I, also, can almost taste my pulse. Tangy, salty, metallic, throbbing.

My gaze returns to his face, to his soft brown eyes, staring at me. Looking not only _at_ me, but through me....into me. I feel him peering into my soul. The emotion I find in those honey brown orbs frightens me more. But it enthrals me as well.... And excites me.... and enrages me. His eyes are blazing with.... desire.... concern.... curiosity.... worry.... possessiveness.... fear?.... and.... something else. Something I can't identify.

His expression changes. It softens, curiosity taking over. His focus no longer stays on my face.... He now examines my entire body.... undressing me with his mind and eyes. He's searching for something. Probably he's trying to guess (he'll never know) where my other scars are. If, in fact, there are others. There are, of course. I have a number of slices just under my breasts. No one'd see them there. Or the ones on my upper thighs. And the burns/cuts I made on my.... more intimate areas.... will never be seen.

Why? Why will no one see? Why have I only had.... sex.... once? One word (well name really....): Barbossa. That bastard thought....

Never mind. What matters is the here and now. I was born alone, I'll die alone. All other in—betweens don't matter. That's what I've always lived by. That's what I'll die by. Or so I thought. I don't know anymore.

I never needed anyone. But he changed the rules.

His eyes linger a little too long on choice places of my anatomy. In response, my hand raises from his chest, coming in contact with his face in a slap that was painful for the both of us. Mere seconds after my hand impacted his face; a numbing pain shoots through my entire arm, wrist to shoulder and up to my neck.

He grabs my arms, just above the self inflicted injuries, roughly pinning them to my sides. I look at them, then at him in disbelief. He's _never _been so harsh with me. He respects me. I've always treated him like he was weak. He's so.... passive....so submissive towards me. I guess I started believing he was always that way.... He always acted afraid of me. I didn't realize how strong he really is. I squirm slightly in his grip, panic rising in my throat.

His searching eyes return to my face. Anger fills the honey with fire.... soft caramel turning to glowing rings of amber surrounding the onyx abysses of his pupils. My panic turns to fear.... I trusted him. He's my friend. At least I thought he was. Looking into those.... fierce eyes, I can't see my friend. My heart races. "Jack?...." I can only whisper. I can't trust my voice. I don't know if I can even _use_ my voice right now.

The gold in his eyes shimmers slightly. Slowly, the amber bleeds out of them, returning them to their gentle mahogany colour.

"'M sorry, luv." Concern returns, now joined with guilt. The speed at which he changes emotions scares me even more. I mean, it's just not normal, especially for him, to show so many emotions. And in such quick succession....

I try to push him away, struggling to pull free from his grasp. He holds me in place. Though the angry fire is gone, and he's gentle again, I still am afraid. I want nothing more right now, than to run. Than to just squirm out of his grasp and get as far away from him as possible.

"Luv, listen...." He tries to get me to stop struggling. His voice is so calming, so soft. "I won't hurt you. No' that you should be worried about that. After all, you do it t' yourself...." I glare at him. Good, I'm getting angry. Anger solves everything. At least when it comes to dealing with men.

I allow my body to relax, well seem to relax, anyway. I stopped fighting him. My entire body just.... loosens up. His grip slackens slightly, not enough for me to break free, but enough that I'm not practically being forced down anymore. That in itself lets me relax for real. I'm no longer as on guard. I'm still irate for his presence. As well as for his infuriating attempt to control my life. "Why do you care?" I honestly want to know. Why does he think that he could dictate which way my life goes? "Don't you have enough problems worrying over your precious ship?.... And keeping yourself out of the sights of the Royal Navy?.... And...." He touches his finger to my lips, trying to silence me. I really have to fight the urge to open my mouth and bite down as hard as I can on it. I, instead, comply. Let him have his minute victory. He won't win where it actually counts. Might as well grant him this much.

"Like I was trying to say.... I care. I care about what you're doing because I don't want you to hurt yourself." I can see that he's struggling to find the right words. It's almost humorous the way he can't speak without his gesticulations. Almost. "I care about you. So I don' want you t' get 'urt, savvy?" He seems so sincere. As if he truly means what he's saying.

Of course, I've seen that before. I've seen the.... concern, the....... love. And every time, it ends up the same. I fall for it. I let them in and allow them to care for me. I permit them the respect and love they want, and they just leave. When they've gotten what they want out of me, they just up and leave. The only friends who've never left me are my knives and the fire. They're still there when I need them. They don't try to change me. They don't try to make me do what I don't want to do. They don't tell me they love me and just vanish.

"'If you love someone, let them go'. I'n' there an old sayin' somewhere abou' that? If no' there should be." I look him strait in the eyes. "You say you care for me, righ'?" He nods. "Then you won't object to droppin' me off at the next port." His eyes widen at that. I'd laugh, but that'd ruin my bluff. I don't really want to leave the _Pearl_. She's become like my home. But I want to prove to him, once and for all, that he doesn't love me. That he only cares about me because of my skills.

I can see his eyes tearing up. Nice acting. 'Twould be believable were it not for the fact that I know how he works. Jack Sparrow _never_ cries (unless he wants something). He's just trying to call my bluff. _Not_ going to happen. "Alrigh'. If that's wha' ye wan', then don' let me stop ye." Hmmh. He thinks he'll trick me into staying. "We can make port Royal sooner than Tortuga. Unless you have a specific place you want us to let you off at...."

Doubt fills my mind. Maybe he is tired of my foolishness. Maybe he let me aboard because he thought I could fulfil a different kind of duty, a bit of an added extra bonus by having your First Mate be a woman. Now that he knows he'll never get that, he's tired of trying. After all, there are _plenty_ of women he could go after instead.

Well, if he wants me gone.... I don't know. I want to stay. But he doesn't. I'm sure Gibbs would be eager to get rid of me. After all, 'Women are bad luck to have aboard' and all that nonsense. "Port Royal would be fine." I hear the words come from my own voice, from me, but I don't want to be saying them. I don't mean them. What I want to say.... What I meant to say is 'No! I want to stay. I was only kidding.....' It's too late now.

I am unsure why, but the look of utter disappointment in his eyes fills me with regret. I need only say that I changed my mind. All I have to do is tell him the truth.

Then why can't I? What is so _bloody_ hard about just opening my mouth and saying that one sentence? I realize his hands are no longer holding me down. I raise my arms to his face. I cradle hic cheeks in my hands, using my thumbs to wipe away the tears that have begun falling. He turns his face towards my right hand, kissing the palm before reaching up to take it (gently) in his own.

"'Ana'" Both the candle and he whisper my name at the same time. I want so badly to just feel them both. I want to let them both warm me in their embraces. I look behind him and see the candle. Its wax is melting over the side. It's formerly pristine, white collum, almost a hand's—width and a half tall, is now only three or four fingers—width. Its melted wax pools over the table, solidifying into white puddles. My gaze returns to Jack. His kohl is slightly smeared, forming grey trails down his face, a mirror of the candle's wax.

"I.... I'm sorry." I turn my gaze down to my lap. "Why don't you want me to leave?" Though the room is near silent, my words are nearly unheard, I spoke so softly.

He lowers both of my hands to my lap, settling them into a resting position. "First, I know I should be saying that there's no need to be apologising, but there is. Second...." Leaving one hand on my hands, he raises one to my chin to lift my face to his. "Second, I want you to stay because...." He looks me directly in the eye. "I.... You know this is really hard t' say, right?" I look at him in confusion. What could be so hard to about saying that he needs my skills on the ship and I'm the best First Mate he could ask for? Unless that's not what he was going to say. Maybe the real reason he kept me aboard _was_ because he wanted easy access to a woman while on long journeys.

"Just say it, already. Or I'll just turn back to the fire. The flame's never been so.... inarticulate. It always goes strait to the point. None of that stalling crap." Well, I got a response from him. It just wasn't the one I had expected. Faster than I can register what was going on; he pulls me out of my chair and moves us both so I'm sitting in his lap. He then reaches behind him to the table and snuffs out the candle with his pointer finger and thumb.

"Why say it when I can show you?" Panic rises up in me at those words. I can hardly breath as his lips meet mine in a gentle, yet passionate kiss.

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Yet again, tbc....

And as always, I don't know what ?I'm doing wrong unless you tell me. I know it kind of rambles, but that's me. I am quite the Chatty Ana (In case you couldn't tell). And I know, too, that there are a lot of (....)s in it, but this story needs them. It just wouldn't be the same without the pauses and breaks in thought. Anamaria's feeling very disjointed. So, her thoughts and speech would reflect that. If you noticed, most of the (....)s are in _her_ speech and her narrative. very few of it's in Jack's dialog. Accept where it's necessary.

Any other constructive criticism? What was you favourite part? What part do you think I need the most work on? Feedback is crucial in my growth as an authoress. You tell me what's wrong, I'll work to improve upon that next time.

So, in conclusion:  
READ AND REVIEW!

It'll help you just as much as it helps me because the more you help me fix my mistakes, the better my stories will be.

(Unless you think their perfect as is. Then just review to give a shout out. ;) )


	3. Seared by the Secrets

**Sorry it's so late.... Comp troubles.  You can thank Julie and LilSnoopy of the Black Pearl Scrolls for it being here at all.  They typed it for me...  Thanks....**

**NOTE:** All the italicized lines, enclosed in parentheses denote an unseen voice talking in Ana's head. sighs.. It just had to be given away in order for it to make sense.

**Feeling**

_**Chapter 3**_

"Jack...please, stop..." I can't put much force behind my words. My heart is racing like a wild rabbit, I can't breathe, and panic is bubbling inside of me. Waves of nausea churns within me.

The burns on my wrists scream their discontent when I try to push my Captain off of me. _(Or me off him?)_ A small whimper escapes me. I usually _can_ handle pain, don't get me wrong, but add to it absolute...terror...and I don't think I can handle _anything_ right now.

At least he releases me. I all but fall backwards in my attempt to escape. I land with a thud in the darkened room. The only source of light was my candle. Jack saw to its extinguishing.

"'M sorry luv." He seems to be saying that a lot lately. "'R you alright? Did I hurt you? wha's wrong?" I tune out his questions. They'll only serve to confuse me more. I need to think. The shadows embrace me. I can feel ghost hands, pressing against me, pawing at me.

An involuntary shudder racks my body. Just the memory of Barbossa's...man-handling...me, makes my arm itch for my knife. Or my candle. But thanks to _someone_, that option no longer stands.

My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. You never truly appreciate how bright a single, tiny flame is until you're forced to do without. A small patch of moonlight, emanating from the cabin's only window, casts a faint glow. Everything is monochrome, as if washed clean of every colour by the moon.

Even Jack has lost nearly all his color.

His bandana, usually as crimson as fresh blood, has turned burgundy, as if it was really blood that had dried. The red, even as dark as it is, seems out of place. The only color in a black and white sketch.

"Anamaria?" This time I have no candle to call me, so that leaves only one choice.

"Yes, _Captain_?" I don't know why I just emphasized his title. I guess I'm just trying to distance myself. By being formal, I'm distancing myself from him.

_(Captain Sparrow, meet Captain Redundancy.)_

"I've been asking you for a while, what's wrong? You seem... distressed."

_(Wow, big word coming from a pirate.)_

"Ye're startin' t' sounds like yer brother. 'Distressed'? Tha's a pretty big word fer a mere pirate." That was cold. His brother's an officer in the Royal Navy. To liken Jack to him was just mean.

And mean. I'm not sure how far I can push him before he stops coming back. Every comment I make forces him further away. One of these times, I'll be holding at arms length and I'll end up losing him.

Even in the dim light, I can see the hurt on his face. He begins to rise from his seated position. His actions aren't drunken, yet graceful as they usually are. By the look in his eyes, by the less than imbibed movements, I've done it. I've pushed him too far. He doesn't care anymore.

_(Did he ever?)_

As he comes closer--- I'm standing between him and the door--- I can see the pain glimmering in those dark depths.

Now it's my turn to apologize. I have to. Before I lose... before I lose Jack, and all that might go with him. I don't know how I feel about him just yet, but I do know, in time, I can learn to love him. I can't lose that. I can't let the chance for true happiness slip through my fingers. Not over such a stupid reason.

"I'm..." my voice comes out naught but a whisper, "I'm sorry..."

I know he hears me when he stops in front of me and lowers himself to eye level. With tentative hands, he reaches towards me. Now, it's almost as if **he's** afraid of scaring me off. I could almost laugh, if I were not so... I don't know. I don't know anything. I don't know how I feel. I don't even know why I'm so confused. I feel like crying. I feel like hitting something. I feel like screaming out in frustration. I feel like falling into Jacks' arms.

"Now, are you goin' t' tell me wha's wrong?" His tone is soft, caring. Why? It doesn't concern him.

_(Doesn't it?)_

I shake my head. "No." whether it was to him or myself, I'm not sure. There's a lot I'm not sure of at this moment.

_(Why?)_

'I don't know.' I reply back in my mind. Again, those three words.

_(Pretty annoying isn't it?) _The voice teases and jeers now...

'Actually,' I snap, '**_you_** are the annoying one.'

I allow myself to glance back to Jack's face. From the expression I find there, I must have spoken aloud. Damn.

"Sorry." I murmur my answer. I don't really expect him to hear me. I'm not sure I care if he does.

('_I'm not sure' is very similar to 'I don't know.')_

'I **_do_** know it's not a good sign to be hearing voices.' This time I make sure to answer myself- -if it really _is _my self I'm hearing- -in my head.

(_Don't want the Captain to get the wrong idea, huh?)_

I try to ignore the voice. I focus, instead on Jack.

Captain Jack Sparrow, a man who **_never_** shows emotion...who **_never_** lets people see how he feels, now has his emotions written, plain as day, on his face. His hat shadows half of his face. The half I can see, however, is filled with confusion. His pale lips, usually curled in a half smile- -exposing hints of gold teeth- -is turned down in concentration and bemusement.

His silence is almost too...loud.

_(How can silence be loud?)_

The worse part is that the voice is making sense.

(_Of course I am.)_

"Who **are** you?" I realize that I spoke aloud. Too little, too late.

"'M your Captain, luv...And I thought, your friend." He pauses, wondering whether to say...whatever it is he wants to say. "'An'...I hope we could become more."

_(See? _The voice taunts vehemently,_ He just wants you for sex. Just like Barbossa..._ )

I swear...The voice is mocking me. But, why? What could it possibly get?

_(Wouldn't you like to know?)_

"Yes..." I realize I spoke aloud again. 'Yes, I would like to know...so why don't you tell me?'

_(Why?)_

'Cause I want to know.'

_(Curiosity killed the cat...)_

Great. Some strange voice is taunting me in my head. A voice only I can hear. And now it's threatening me.

_(No threat. Just a warning.)_

Alright. _**Warning** _me not to ask questions. If I do, it'll skip threatening and act against me. Why should I care? It's just a voice. What can a voice do?

_(Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to.)_

Another threat...er...warning, aye?'

_(Take it as you'd like.)_

My...mental argument...is interrupted by a hand on my leg. I jump slightly, but I don't pull back this time. I look down to his hand, lying gently on my leg. I just stare at it, as if entranced by the sight. Why? I don't...No. I'm giving that voice more to mock me with.

_(Trust me. I've got plenty already.)_

I'm ignoring it. The voice, not Jack.

The weight and warmth of his hand is both terrifying, yet welcome. My heart pounds against the base of throat. My head is feeling rather light, and not from blood-loss like it usually is. I try to hide my fear. I try not to push him away either. It's challenging. It's a struggle not to take his hand off my leg. I want to say something...anything...preferably three specific words

_(What? Should be real easy. 'I don't know'? seems to be your phrase of the day.)_

I want to say three words, but only one of them was said by the voice. I don't trust my own voice to say them, however. And I _really_ don't trust the Voice to relay the message.

I just sit there, one leg folded slightly beneath me, the other leg out to the side, Jack's hand on my bent knee. My hand moves to cover his. Partially, to keep him from moving it higher, partially to keep him from taking it away. His other hand brushes against my cheek. I move into his touch. I want to let him touch me without fear.

I'm still afraid. I still have to force myself to move into the touch rather than away from it. But I'm at least not running away from him. I've known him this long...I know I could learn to love him, given time. I'm just trying to speed things along.

_(Such a pretty little thing. I'm not surprised Jack wants ye. I'm actually more surprised he hasn't gotten tired of waiting and just taken what yer so reluctant to give.) _

Damn that Voice.

_(What's wrong? Truth hurts? Barbossa wasn't as patient, was he?)_

The words brought with them the memory of...what happened.

_(I wonder what Jack'll do when he finds out you're tainted. What'll he say when he finds out Barbossa had you first? How fast do ye think he'll have ye off his ship? Maybe he'll claim ye first. Just to out do Barbossa...what do ye think?)_

Tears prick my eyes as doubt fills my mind. Jack isn't like that. He wants my heart, not my body...My assurance of that is waning. The Voice is beginning to wear away my confidence.

_(Maybe, because I'm right.)_

I clumsily hurry to my feet, covering my ears. As if I could block out the Voice with my hands over my ears.

_(I'd wager against it. I'm not that easy to get rid of.)_

"Well, I can hope...What if I asked you nicely to leave?" I can all be see the Voice's non...noncorporal...noncorporeal...nonphysical smirk.

_(I think your Captain is getting the wrong idea.)_

I look to see what it's talking about. Jack is standing before me, perplexed appearance in place. His sorrow...his hurt...it's almost palpable. "N-not you." I hurriedly try to explain. I grab his arm in both of mine, attempting to him here.

He looks around the tenebrous room. "Then who're you talkin' to? I don' see anyone else here."

_(Oh, too bad. He's got you. Either you tell him the truth-that yer hearin' voices-he'll leave for sure then. Or, you tell him you were talkin' to him. IN which case, he's gone anyway. So...what'll it be?)_

The worst part is that the Voice is telling the truth.

_(Was there any doubt?)_

'Always. With you, in any case.'

To answer Jack. "I was...I...it's hard to explain." The room blurs as tears fill my eyes and down my cheeks. _(Cry-baby.)_ "I just want it to stop. But...if I tell you, you'll throw me overboard...or drop me off at the nearest port...or..." I feel Jack try to pull from my grasp. I let him go. "I'm sorry...you're probably trying to figure out what to do with me right now. I'll ready my things. You can drop me off at Tortuga..."

I turn to my trunk, to pack my meager belongings. After regaining Jack and, the _Black Pearl_, I thought my need for that trunk was a long time off.

_(Guess plans change, aye?) _

'You shut up!' I shout inwardly at the Voice.

_(Or what? Empty threats, that's all they are.)_

I feel arms wrap around my waist. I jump, slightly.

_(Remember when Barbossa did that? Right here, in fact. Right in this cabin. This used to be his.) _

"That was a long time ago." But the Voice's words brought back memories, buried for so long. It's no longer Jack's arms around me, it's Barbossa's. The touch isn't gentle, it's all be strangling.

I sob, struggling with a long-dead assailant. I elbow behind me, throwing all of my force into it. With a grunt of pain, the arms around me let go. A dull thud tells me where he lands. I turn to face him, getting into a fighting stance, expecting to see Barbossa. The sight of Jack lying on the ground, clutching his stomach, makes me drop beside him. I feel so guilty

_(And so you should. Yer the cause of his pain. Yer the cause of a lot of pain. You always hurt those yer close to, don't ye?)_

"No." I shake my head vehemently. "I didn't mean it." _(Didn't you?)_ "Of course I didn't. I swear." Jack lay there in a fetal position, and all I want to do is

_(Hurt him?)_

Hold him. Comfort him.

_(SO he can do to you what Barbossa did?)_

"He won't do that!"

I kneel beside him and pull him to me. "I'm sorry...I...I was..."

_(Go ahead. Tell him you're tainted. Tell him about Barbossa. After how you've been acting, I bet he's lookin' for any reason he can find to get rid of ye.)_

"I didn't mean to hurt ye. I just panicked. I thought you...were..." My voice trails off.

_(Can't do it, can ye? You can't tell him. You know what he'd do.)_

"'S alright. 'M fine." He uncurls, relaxing into my embrace. "Ye do have a powerful punch, though. Reminds me why I made you me First Mate." His arms wrap around me, head lying on my shoulder...But I'm not afraid. I feel too guilty.

_(Guilty? For what? It's not yer fault. He's the one taking advantage of _you

First the Voice is against me, now it's my best friend? I think not.

_(Think what you like.)_

I will.

I awkwardly try to find a place for my arms. With Jack half in my lap; I'm having difficulty getting my arms into a comfortable position.

_(There is a reason why men are usually in the dominant position. Perhaps ye should give Sparrow the control.)_

'I'll figure it out. Just give me a moment.' I finally settle on holding him as a child.

_(Since you'll never have one.) _

"What?" 'Who says I want one?'

_(You _do

'Not.' Children would only get in the way of duty.

Silence. From both of them. This time, I'm happy about it. No nosy Voice. I just sit there, holding Jack, in the silent darkness. That's not true...Jack and the Voice are silent. That's not to say there is no noise. There's the sound of the water lapping against the ship...the usual creak and moan of the _Pearl_...just the normal sounds of sailing a ship.

A thought strikes me.

(_Sounds painful.)_

'Oh, yay, you're back.'

_(I knew deep, deep down, ye cared.)_

That _was_ sarcasm. But anyway...'I wonder who's got the helm? Jack wouldn't give it up to just anybody. There are only a few of us he lets steer his precious _Black Pearl_.

_(Good question. Why 't ye ask 'im?)_

'I don't need your permission to do anything.'

"Um...Jack?" Why am I so nervous about asking a simple question? 'That was _not _for you to answer.' Best to cut off any commentary before it starts.

"Hmm?" His voice vibrates against me. Kind of tickles, but it's nice.

"Who's steerin' the ship?" I don't—"

_(Know?)_

"I don't think. (_Got that right_) I don't think that it was the question I was having trouble with. I just said it fine right now. I think I was more worried about disturbing the peaceful silence.

(_Or maybe, afraid he'll realize no one's controlling the ship and run off, leaving you alone. With Me..._)

I can feel the malice in those last two words. And it scares me.

(_Aww...I didn't mean to scare you. It'll be fun, just you...and me.)_

Jack smiles reassuringly. He must have misunderstood my worry. My fear must have shown on my face. Now he thinks I'm afraid of having some novice at the helm or something.

_(Not too bright then, is he?)_

"Cotton's at the helm. But if you wan' I can take over."

_(He wants to get away from you.)_

"No!" I ignore Jack's surprise and the Voice's laughter. "You don't have to go. I'm not pushing you away. I was just curious." _('Member that poor cat? What happened to him from indulging his curiosity?)_ "Please, stay?" I nearly when Jack rises from my embrace. _(Afraid to be alone with me?)_ "Yeah, I am." I let him go and stand. "Sorry. I'm...I can't explain the way I'm acting...It's..." (_Complicated.)_ "Complicated..." I can't believe I just agreed with the Voice.

_(Scary, isn't it?)_

"Try to explain. I swear on pain of Death, I will not throw you overboard. Or drop you off at the nearest port. Or anything else." I want to tell him, but I don't know how.

_(What's so hard about telling him that you're hearing Voices in yer head? Or do you mean about being tainted by Barbossa?)_

The malicious laughter sends a shiver down my spine.

Jack helps me up, pulling me into a friendly, comforting embrace. "Thanks." I mutter into his shirt. I move my head so my cheek is resting on his shoulder and my face is free of fabric. "I want to tell you. I swear. I...it's hard."

_(Well, with a pretty thing like you in his arms...I'm not surprised it's hard. Maybe you should alleviate the problem for him, aye?) _

I wrap my arms around Jack, in a strange hold. I need the assurance that he won't leave until I'm completely done. "I'm...ye see...there's this

_(God, will ye just spit it out already? )_

"I'm being haunted." The second I said it was the first time I thought of it. But, thinking back on my conversations with the Voice, it made sense. "I have a Voice telling me things. I'm sorry. I know, I sound mad. Hearing voices? Not a good sign, but this is the first time. I swear, it just started after you...blew...out...the candle." Did the candle have something to do with it?

The voice is completely silent. There's a first. _I_ must have struck a nerve for once.

"That's it?" Jack says in a surprised voice. "That's what you're worried about? You're not scarin' me off that easily. Hearin' voices ain't anything new for me, if ye ask 'most anybody. If that's alls, ye've got nothin' to worry about." He gives me a friendly squeeze, a short, gentle hug." That explains the one sided conversations. What about your...fear? What did that voice say? Every time I did anything even slightly...more than friendly, you pushed me away."

I can't tell him. Not about Barbossa. What am I supposed to say?

"It said...It said you were going to..." My heart races. I'm not _lying_. Not really. I'm just withholding information. Nice little lies to tell myself. Maybe I'll even believe it if I keep telling myself. "The Voice...it gave me images. I saw...felt...you force yourself on me. I know you weren't." I rush to assure him of the last part. "The Voice made see and feel things that weren't happening. I'm sorry. I was just defending myself from a threat that wasn't there. I don't know why it was toying with me like that." That's at least true. Why was it pestering me. And why now? "Ye believe me, right? 'R d'ye think I'm insane? I'm starting to believe I am. I understand if you do, too. I--" He presses his finger to my lips to silence me.

"I thought I already told you that I don't think yer crazy." A small smile curves his lips, "I'm the daft one, 'member?"

There's a tiny glimmer of hopeful humor in his eyes. I smile back shyly. It doesn't reach my eyes, but, in the dark, I hope he doesn't notice.

My arms ache, I'm terrified, and yet...I'm content. It's as if every pain...every tiny hurt...cancel each other out. All of my troubles are shadowed by the warmth of his embrace.

**To Be Continued...**

So...who's the mysterious Voice? If you don't know, I'm not telling. At least not yet. Not even in this story probably...In any case, read on.

Argh! Stupid tanget! I forgot what I was going to say...scratches head in money-like fashion attempting to remember the point Hmm.......

Aha! I was about to thank all you nice reviewers. Hana lei (sorry for poor elvish spelling), Danka Shen (again, sorry for sp. Errors...), Grazias (Need I keep apologizing?), Merce Boku (you know the drill)...yeah, thanks...(I'm not _even_ gonna try sp. Japanese thanx.)

Your reviews are about the only nice things I hear lately. So keep'm comin'. You review; I'll do everything in my power to keep updating.


	4. Healed by the Heart

_**Feeling Chapter Four**_

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Sorry, ths isn't a new chapter or anything.... It just was brought to my attention that I had a bit of OOCness in the case of Jack's personality. Thank you Rose Noire le Mort for pointing out my flaw. As I've said many times before.... The only way for my writing to improve is with the help of reviewers like you. If you tell me what's wrong, I'll do my damnedest to fix it. Thank you all for your input....

And, now, on with the show!.... um.... err.... Story!:****

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**_Feeling Chapter Four_**

"Ana?" His voice is more felt than heard. He spoke my name softly, as if afraid of ruining the moment.

"Hmm?" My tone matches his. I don't want to ruin the mood either. It feels so.... ethereal, so.... surreal. The pale moonlight casting its silvery glow, the two of us wrapped tightly in each other's arms, and the soft sounds of a life at sea.

"How long have you been doing this to yourself?" He traces the scars of my exposed arm as he speaks. So much for calm and captivating storybook ending.

I might as well be honest. I'm sure he can see through a lie, anyways. "Since...." Alright, so I can't be completely honest. I cant tell him about Barbossa, so I can't tell him the whole truth.... "Since they found out I was a woman." I don't have to tell him who 'they' are. I know he knows I mean his former crew. I just hope he's content with the answer.

He's silent for a while. In the silence, I pray he doesn't pry. How can I explained myself? (How can he trust you when you don't trust him?) On, god, don't let the Voice be back. Not now. (Why not?) I don't have time for you.

Jack's voice startles me out of my mental conversation. "That was nigh sixteen years ago.... You've been hurting yourself for that long?" I don't answer. He must take my silence as a yes, because he continues. "Why didn't you tell anyone? I thought you trusted me." I really don't want to be having this conversation. I want to sink right through the floorboards.... I already feel so small.... He means well by it, I know that. I just feel so.... bad.... so guilty.... "I would have helped. You know that, don't you? Why do you still do it? Things are going so well. We're the most feared pirates in the Spanish Maine.... Nay, the entire _world_. Why do feel you have to hurt yerself?"

How could I explain it to him? The warmth of my blood trailing down my arm.... The relief that comes from ridding myself of the pain.... How could he possibly understand? He became a pirate by choice. I became one by necessity. He grew up with a loving family, mine hated me. He knew what it's like to be loved. It's easy for him to love. He understands it. What do I have? Jack, the _Black Pearl_, and the crew. I can't just sit by and let someone love me. It's not in my nature.... And he wants me to explain to him why I need my knife? I just can't tell him.

(He wouldn't understand, even if ye _could_ find the words.) No, he wouldn't. (He'd just judge ye fer no' being perfect like him.) I'm not so sure about that part. (If you told him the truth, he'd want t' be rid of ye. Ye can' tell 'im.) I want to.... If I could find the right words to say it.

The silence echoes in my ears. I can hear every little sound. The creaking of the ship.... Jack's and my breathing.... The whisper of the wind.... And.... it sounds like footsteps.... _in_ the cabin. But we're both standing still. My focus is turned the footfalls, pacing back and forth, from us to the bed and back to us. The steps are so soft, I can't be certain if they're really there or not.

Jack's words once again steal my attention. "Ana? Are you alright?" He must've mistaken my silence as a sign something is wrong. "You can trust me. Please, tell me what's wrong." He actually said "please". He never says please. Why does he care so much why I cut and burn? He has no relation to me, so what's the problem? It's not as if it's limiting my ability to preform my duties as First Mate.

(Perhaps he has a different reason for caring. Like he truly _is _concerned about you.) Why does the Voice even care? Why should I trust it? 'Maybe I'd be more inclined to believe you if I could see you.'

"Ana?"

"Sorry. I was distracted...." Well, it was the truth.... The Voice is really distracting me. (Apologies.) Yeah, right.

"What's wrong?" His finger traces an especially decorative scar, a crown over a setting sun. I was feeling creative when I did that one. His gentle touch sends a warm shiver down my spine. "If you ever need anyone to talk to, I've got two perfectly good ears. No' much between them if ye ask 'most anybody.... But My ears still work, in any case." He pulls back a bit from our embrace. My arms tighten around his waist. I don't feel like being left alone right now. I don't really feel like anything other than standing there in the warm shelter of his arms.

"Wait." I can't let him go, and I need to explain why. He deserves that much at least. "I don't know how to explain what it's like to feel the release when a vein is opened, or when my bubbling flesh hisses my name. I don't know how to make you understand how it feels when warm blood coats cool flesh. You can't truly appreciate the calming.... euphoria that comes with this type of pleasure." I don't know why I'm being so bloody poetic.... I'm starting to sound like a simpering noble–woman.... "It's just not something you couldn't understand."

"Ana...." His mask is up. That usually means he's either debating on whether to say or do something, or he's trying to figure out the best way to rid himself of a problem. I really pray it's the first. I'd rather him say something hurtful and cruel, than lose him forever. "You've had a rough life...." I feel relief that it's only words he was debating on. But now I dread what he's about to say.... "You've had too short of a childhood. You don't know love.... But you're not the only person in the world who's had pain. I've had my fair share of hardships, too. Just because you've had some troubles, that doesn't make you turn to slicing open your body for relief. There must be something more. Tell me, help me to understand." I feel like a child being scolded by my older brother for doing something wrong. "Let me take away your pain a different way. Let me love you. Let me teach you how to love. That's one of the few lessons I did pay attention to growing up.... Let me in. Let me in and I'll show you how to be happy. You won't have to do this any more." He runs his hands over my scars. "Just think about it, alright?"

There are so many things I want to say. So many things I want to do. Still, all I do is nod slightly and bury my face in his chest. I knew it. He doesn't understand. He doesn't get the fact that my wounds aren't just boredom. I need to do this as badly as he needs to drink his rum. (Now let's not get carried away here....) I need the release. Otherwise the pain just builds up. With out my crimson tears, I'd be reduced to a sobbing child, emitting silver ones.

(Now is that really true? Ye'd die if ye didn't bleed yerself?) 'Yes!' (I doubt tha'.) 'What do you know?!' Anger is beginning to well up inside of me. My knife is calling for me. Its pull is almost irresistible. (So 'tough, powerful, Anamaria' can't fight against the attraction of a puny knife? You're no' as strong as ye say, then, aye?) I want to scream at the Voice.... I want to hurt it.... I want to claw up my arms to alleviate my mental anguish.... I want to just stay curled up in Jack's embrace.... Guess which one I'll end up doing.

I practically suffocate myself in the rough fabric of Jack's shirt. "I just want it to stop...." Speaking of silver tears.... They quickly begin to fill my eyes. "I just want it all to end.... The pain.... The Voice.... The sorrow.... I just want it to go away." Too bad I don't know how to make that happen. I doubt Jack can either.

I feel his arms around my waist. He holds me close to him. I feel myself lifted off me feet. He carries me to my bed, setting me down gently. I feel the bed give beneath me to accommodate him as he sits beside me. Our arms are still around each other, and we just sit there a moment. He pulls away slightly, just enough to look in my eyes.

"Will you try, for my sake?" I almost ask him 'try what', when he continues. "I'd hate to have to find a new First Mate because you got over–enthusiastic about one of your knife drawings." His eyes fogged over, and after a moments silence, he added, "I don't know what I'd do without you...." He sounds so sincere. Why does he care so much? I just don't understand it.... What's the big problem, anyway? It's _my_ life, and _my_ body. Why can't I decide what to do (or not do) with my body?

(I don't think that's what he means by all of this....) Then what? (Maybe he really cares, ever thought of that?) But why? (Sometimes there isn't a reason.)

I don't understand why he cares so much.... But, looking at the worry and sorry in his eyes, I know.... "I want to try. I want to make things right.... But.... It's just so hard. I––" his finger on my lips stops anymore words.

"That's all I'm asking for. I know it'll be a challenge.... But since when was there ever a challenge that either of us couldn't face? Together, we can do anything.... If you put your mind to it, I know you can stop hurting yourself.... I'll be there for you whenever you need anything." He smiles, though it's just a shadow of his usual grin. "Besides, don't you get hurt enough in battles? I thought you'd be sick of it by now."

I laughed softly at that. "Just because your fighting skills are lacking and you get injured as a result, doesn't mean it's the same for me."

"There's the smile I've come to love." I blushed slightly at that. "Now, what say you to letting me take care of those burns?" I've all but forgotten them, but at their mention, a throbbing, searing pain emits from them. I nod. "Good. Then let me gather the materials, and I'll have them as good as new." As much as I respect him as a Captain, I somehow doubt that Jack is very good at taking care of wounds. I guess I'll find out....

"Then we can work on getting you over your fascination with pain. Hopefully it'll help me just as much. Perhaps once you get past your pain–is–fun phase, you'll not only stop wanting to hurt yourself, but you'll stop wantin' t' hurt others as well.... Meself bein' on the top of tha' list, of course...."

All I can manage as a response to that is a soft "Good luck with that. I'll still slap ye when ye deserve it." Besides, even if I stop, he'll still get slapped....

I don't know if he heard me or not; he's already on the other side of the cabin, retrieving scraps of cloth to bandage my wounds.

He turns back to me, accoutrements in hand. I can tell I was heard by the smile on his face. Even if I wasn't certain he caught my words, his words assure me he did. "Well, then.... I'll just have to be more careful not to deserve it...." He pauses a moment, nearly stumbling in the dark. "Ye will have some leniency for a daft fool like me, won't ye?"

I stifle a laugh as I answer. "Only if ye make sure t' keep yer promise..."

What lay on the horizon? I don't know.... But, for once, I won't be alone when I face whatever it is....

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So, that's it for "Feeling". As they say, "All good things must come to an end". But, at least in this case, there's more to come. I'm already midway through a sequel. Hell, I'm already at least midway through four different stories, all in this time–line. Unfortunately, to keep some semblance of order, I must post them in chronological order. Too bad that's not quite how I wrote them.... I just follow the Plot Bunnies wherever they take me..... Blame them, I'm just the lowly scribe who feeds and cares for them until they grow big and fat enough to kill and make into a nice meaty story....

As always, reviews are most welcome.... Tell me how good I am, how bad.... Just tell me what you thought. I actually try to listen to what you say. Use your voice (well, written voice, but you get the idea) and you will be heard.

I hope you enjoyed the story, and Read and Review! Domo Arigato! I know, I spelled it crapily again, sorry.... Damn Usagi....! (I've been watching Japanese Anime again. Sailor Moon. Can't help the poorattempt at Japanese.... --notices all staring--What? I can't like Anime?)


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